


A New Life

by GeekOfManyForms



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode Related, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Relationship tags are not immediate, SherlockMolly is later in story, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekOfManyForms/pseuds/GeekOfManyForms
Summary: Elisabeth Riley is John Watson's best friend and first love. When she shows up at 221B in need of a fresh start, what will happen between her and John's new best friend Sherlock Holmes? Will they discover that they actually have something in common? Could she be exactly what he never knew he needed? One thing is for sure, no one ever said starting anew is easy. Eventual M rating.
Relationships: James Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), John Watson/Original Female Character(s), Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: All things Sherlock





	1. Chapter 1

I looked out the window at the barely visible ground below me. It felt like I'd been on the plane for weeks instead of hours. A voice next to me spoke, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts. "Visiting London for business or pleasure, love?" 

The voice came from a middle-aged woman with a kind and genial face.

My mind scanned her without a second thought. Lives alone, three cats and a dog, an obvious divorcee with no children. I forced a small smile on my lips. I'd always been able to deduce the smallest things, things most people were too unobservant to notice. I don't really count it as a talent - after all, it's only being observant.

"Bit of both really," I finally answered, brushing amber hair from my eyes.

The woman nodded, clearly noticing I wasn't in a sociable mood, and for that I was grateful. I had too much on my mind, no doubt due to my narrow escape in America.

No…no, I mustn't think about that, not here, not now. I looked around the plane hoping to distract myself, as I did observations made themselves known to me. I closed my eyes trying to center myself, if I didn't, I'd surely have a panic attack. Sometimes it's all too much, but I can't shut it off - it's a part of me. My mind always moves too fast, like a freight train running out of control. Just as I was finally able to control my breathing, the pilot came on over the intercom - alerting us of our descent into London. 

At last…I was home.

I kept my eyes closed as the plane started its nosedive. In my opinion, this was the worst part of flying. My hands gripped the handrest, no doubt causing my fingers to turn white from my tight grip. Finally, the plane jolted as we once again met the solid ground. I opened my eyes, glancing down at my hand where the withered fingers of the women beside me were patting my wrist gently. She smiled reassuringly before giving me a thumbs up.

As soon as the stewardess opened the door, I was out of my seat and sliding past my neighbor, grabbing my carry on - which consisted of two small bags. I slipped out of the plane as fast as was humanly possible, my claustrophobia finally getting the best of me. After being free of the plane, I realized how hungry and in need of caffeine I was. Glancing to my right, I noticed a Starbucks. I was elated to see it, living in America these past three years I'd become addicted to their coffees. After waiting in line, I grabbed a coffee and a large blueberry muffin. Releasing a sigh of relief, I glanced around me, quickly finding a table in the back.

Sitting down, I placed my headphones in and turned up the volume - successfully forgetting the world around me. I needed to make a plan, I'd left all of my possessions - apart from my three bags - in California. Looking in my wallet confirmed my worse fears, I was on the verge of being broke as well. I had two hundred dollars and an almost maxed out visa to my name.

He'd taken everything from me. I placed a hand on my neck and rubbed in a circle, trying to relieve a bit of the stress. No not everything, not yet. I still had my life, and I was going to make sure he never found me again. That's why I had to leave in such a hurry. If he would've found out about my plan to come home, I would have been killed or worse, forced to stay with him. I could feel my nerves were getting the best of me, so I slipped into my bag and grabbed a Valium for good measure. No one needed to see me in that state. 

Ok, I had to think now. I had to figure out my plan. I knew I'd chosen to escape to England because I needed to feel safe and at home again. My family wasn't really an option, they had disowned me when I decided to move to America with him - a brilliant mistake that was. What people do when they believe themselves in love. Never again will sentiment be my downfall. Since my family was not an option, there was only one other person I could trust. Luckily, he himself had just returned home.

John Watson was my first love and best friend. I looked through my texts from him - finally finding the one I wanted. He'd very recently sent me his new address telling me to stop by for a visit whenever I came home. Be careful what you wish for John. With the address in hand, I made my way to the exit, hailing a taxi.

"Where to, love?" the cabbie asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. 

I took a deep steadying breath. "221B Bakers Street," I said.

Well here goes nothing; John Watson, here I come.


	2. Chapter Two

I sat in the taxi staring up at the seemingly ordinary brick building. The dark green door glistened menacingly in the rain. A restaurant next door called Speedy's sandwich shop was lit up and bustling with life. I shrugged, at least I'll always have good food nearby. As I sat there, totally chickening out, I noticed someone was standing at the window upstairs looking down at me. I suddenly realized how creepy I must look just staring at the building.

"You know, nothing gets accomplished by sitting," the cabbie said, turning to look back at me, his crooked smile bright.

I finally took a good look at the balding man. He had gentle eyes and his smile was kind. My mind started deducing him, but I mentally slapped myself - deciding to see the man and not the deductions. He was completely right, the only way to move on was to get up and move forward. "Thank you, Tom," I said slipping out of the taxi.

I chuckled at the shocked look he gave me at the easy use of his name - one which I shouldn't have known. With a wink at Tom, I made my way to the front door. The gold knocker was slightly askew, I could tell it was deliberate - probably to irritate someone. The paint around the handle was chipped from multiple replacements. Well, that doesn't bode well. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door with phony enthusiasm. Shuffling could be heard on the other end, as someone moved to open it. The smell of mince pies and the sound of violin music greeted me as an elderly woman in a well-loved blue apron answered the door.

"Can I help you dearie?" she said with a bright smile on her face. She was a lovely woman, even at her age, with blond hair and a gentle face. I instantly liked her.

"Hello, I'm Elisabeth Riley a friend of John Watson - is he at home?" I asked, giving her a genuine smile.

"Oh that's wonderful, we don't get many social visits, do come in." She ushered me inside, her warm palm pressing excitedly at my shoulder. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, not the housekeeper," she said, smiling.

I chuckled, sensing she said that quite often.

The violin music was still playing with easy fluency, floating ethereally down the staircase. It was a beautiful melody I didn't recognize.

Mrs. Hudson noticed my interest. "That'd be Sherlock love, it sounds beautiful now, but not so much at two in the morning." she laughed exhaustedly. 

Even though she tried to sound exasperated, there was obvious love and endearment in her tone.

"John is just out getting the shopping, he'll be back soon I'm sure. In the meantime feel free to join Sherlock." She gestured upstairs. "He could use the company, been without a case for a week now," she said with a slight grimace.

I gave her a nod as I climbed the narrow steps. I was now grateful I'd taken the Valium at the airport. My nerves were frayed beyond belief. The door to the flat upstairs was already slightly ajar, so I decided I might as well just head inside. I gently pushed the door open and was greeted with the sight of a tall man. He had messy black curly hair and to my amusement, wore a dark blue dressing gown. He was standing in front of the window, he's violin placed gently under his chin as he played. He slightly swayed to the melody, his eyes closed in concentration. I stood in the doorway allowing the music to wash over me, its sad melody bringing unshed tears to my eyes.

After a few minutes, I realized he hadn't noticed my intrusion. I slowly stepped inside, placing my bags by the door. It had been years since I played, but I still remembered not liking to be disturbed. I took in my surroundings while I waited for him to finish. To my left was a beautiful fireplace that oddly held a human skull and a stack of papers pinned down by a dagger. In front of the fireplace, were two older chairs that looked comfortable and well worn in. Against the wall by the enraptured man, was a table full of books and papers scattered about in well-maintained chaos. On my far left, was a long couch where I decided to sit and enjoy the free concert. After about three more minutes - if my watch was to be believed - the man finally placed the violin on the music stand beside him, making a few notes on the paper attached to it. He's composing, impressive. Even after all my years of playing, I'd never had the talent to compose.

"So, are you going to explain why you barged into my flat, or should I ask Mrs. Hudson?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder in my direction.

I jumped at his sudden ability to speak, a slight burn building in my cheeks.

"I'm Elisabeth Riley, a friend of John's. Mrs. Hudson told me I could wait here for him," I explained, barely speaking above a whisper.

"Do they not teach the ability to knock in America?" the coldness in his voice made me flinch.

"I'm sorry, you were busy and I didn't want to be rude. Your door was open," I mimicked his coldness, casually nudging my head toward the door.

"So you thought just barging into my flat and making yourself at home less than rude?" he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs. He placed his hands in the form of silent prayer, resting his fingers under his chin. His striking blue eyes ran across my body, deducing everything about me.

"You know it's very rude to deduce people without their consent," I sneered, crossing my arms over my chest as if I could protect myself from the intrusion.

I rose from my seat on the couch and went to stand in front of him. I tapped my foot rhythmically to annoy him. His head rose to meet my irritated gaze.

"It's my job to deduce; I'm the world's only consulting detective," he smugly said.

I rolled my eyes and continued to tap my foot on the floor.

"You get paid to observe, I'm not all that impressed. Anyone can do that with the proper training," I said.

He quickly stood and placed his foot on mine, successfully stopping it from tapping.

"It's far from something that can be taught," he said, drawing out the last word.

I openly scoffed; I've been able to do that since the age of five, I was far from impressed. This man was irritating and very conceited. I disliked him immensely. I am a firm believer that you can know everything you need to about someone's personality within the first five minutes of meeting them. That is unless they are like 'him', a complete psychopath.

Sherlock drug me out of my reverie. "I assume you'd like a demonstration?" he said with boredom.

I sighed. "If you must."

"You and John Watson used to be in a relationship, one that lasted quite some time. You've recently moved back here from America where you've spent most of your twenty's. Judging by the tan lines and the sun-baked hair, somewhere sunny," Sherlock paced in a circle around me. "You have a slight smell of salt accompanying your perfume, so I'd say California probably LA." Leaning close, he placed his nose near the base of my neck inhaling deeply; I suppressed a shudder at his close proximity. "Yes LA, you're definitely fond of the ocean. Before you left you spent at least an hour standing on the beach," he said, stepping backward and crossing his arms in triumph, a smug smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

I raised my eyebrows at his almost perfect observation, I hated to admit it but he was good. Deciding his ego needed no more stroking, I kept my expression unimpressed "Wow, your so good, A-plus - really fantastic," I said, clapping my hands in mock enthusiasm. His once smug smile evaporated and was replaced with one of shock.

"Now it's my turn," I said.

He stood before me, shock still plastered on his face. "Sherlock Holmes, that's not your real first name is it?" I said, circling him just as he had me. "You haven't slept in a good twenty-four hours - that's an easy observation due to the purple bags under your eyes. You also haven't eaten in that time frame - judging from the strong smell of coffee and tea that's all your living off of." I mirrored his blatant abuse of personal space and leaned in close, pressing my nose against his visible collarbone, I took a deep inhale - smelling the collar of his shirt. "You've obviously been smoking, but I don't smell it in the flat, so I'd say it's something you're trying to hide - probably from John. Lastly, you're desperately in need of a shower; you're starting to get greasy," I said, running my fingers through his curls. 

He froze, obviously not used to the physical contact. I stood facing him, waiting for his reaction.

"Quite impressive, Elisabeth; you're clever. Something I didn't see in you at first. You give off an air of stupidity," he stated as if he'd known me all my life.

He headed over to one of the armchairs in the middle of the room and sat down. I pursed my lips, choosing to ignore his rude comment. I could already tell it was just something you had to deal with.

"So, was I right?" he asked, avoiding eye contact.

I smiled at his shyness, maybe he isn't a robot.

"Almost entirely," I said, sitting down in the chair beside him.

"John and I only dated for a few months. He was my first love, though. It just wasn't meant to be; we work better as friends. Which we've been since we were ten. I have known him for a long time, your analysis of the length of our relationship was right, just not completely," I said tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair.

I couldn't get the melody Sherlock had been playing out of my head. He noticed and suppressed a smile. "Do you play?" he asked, looking at the wall behind the couch.

"Not for years, my ex-didn't like it…I play the piano and violin," I mentally facepalmed, annoyed at myself for mentioning him.

"Your ex...was abusive," he said with real interest in his beautiful blue eyes.

Beautiful? No, I would not think that way. He's not beautiful he's an arse.

"Yes, he was. He was also a psychopath. He hid it until he knew he had me right where he wanted me. He is the worst kind of person," I stated.

I was surprised by my easy confession. I wasn't expecting to feel trust in someone I'd just met. I have to be careful.

"Did you meet in America?" Sherlock asked, trying to figure me out.

He really was a detective, I thought with a grin.

"No, I met him in college and fell in love with him almost instantly. It was very foolish of me, but I was young and naive," I said picking lint off my tights. Looking up I met Sherlock's eyes, he was listening intently. "Then he told me he had to move to America. He begged me to come, so I transferred colleges and went with him. Everything seemed perfect until he showed his true colors. I wanted to join a friend for a drink and he went crazy, accusing me of being unfaithful. He is a powerful and scary man, Mr. Holmes," I finished.

I felt I needed to explain why I stayed. It wasn't because I was weak, it was because if I hadn't he would have killed me and everyone I knew. Before Sherlock could comment, the door downstairs opened and rough footsteps could be heard climbing the stairs.

"John," I said with a smile, meeting Sherlock's gaze.


	3. Chapter Three

The door to the flat opened and none other than John Watson entered. I stayed quiet, wondering when he'd notice me. John hadn't changed much, he was still a handsome man with kind eyes. His hair was starting to grey but I knew he'd never dye it. At the moment he looked flustered and angry.

"You took your time," Sherlock said.

"Yeah I didn't get the shopping," John muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

I played with my fingers while Sherlock looked at John indignantly. "What? Why not?" I glanced between John and Sherlock, still playing with my fingers.

John was pacing around the living room, hands in his pockets. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with the chip and pin machine," he all but shouted.

Sherlock lowered the book he had been reading. "You…you had a row, with a machine?" Sherlock stuttered, trying to hide his amusement.

"It isn't the first time and it won't be the last Sherlock," I smiled, finally making my presence known.

The shock on John's face made my smile grow. "Lizzie?" John gasped.

I stood, rushing over, engulfing him in a giant hug.

"What…when…how?" was all John could muster.

I smiled at him like the damn Cheshire cat. I'd forgotten how much I missed him.

"I've only just arrived; I've been keeping Sherlock entertained," I said glancing at Sherlock.

"The entertainment part is questionable," he said, never once looking up from his book.

"I've moved here; I just needed a change," I avoided his gaze.

I could tell he wanted to question me further but decided against it. "Where are you staying?" John said, glancing down at my luggage.

I felt a blush creeping across my cheeks. "Actually that's why I'm here. I'm currently in the market for an affordable flat. I could use a place to stay."

John's eyes widened as he met Sherlock's gaze, who of course only shrugged, leaving the decision up to John.

"I'm sure we can make room; you can take my bed, I'll take the couch."

I gasped in mock horror. "John Hamish Watson, I would never take your bed, the couch is fine by me," I swatted him playfully. He tried to object but I grabbed my bags and made my way to the couch, tossing myself down "Aww it's the epitome of comfort," I playfully sighed.

John scoffed, resigned to the fact that my mind was made up.

"I shouldn't have to stay long, I already have an interview tomorrow at Bart's Hospital," I placed my feet on the table in front of me.

"You already have an interview? When did you find the time?" John said with amusement.

Again I avoided his eyes. "I've been planning this move for months."

John made a move to question me when Sherlock spoke up. "What do you do for a living, Elisabeth?"

I gave him a grateful smile. " I'm a specialist registrar. My interview tomorrow is with a Miss Molly Hooper."

John gave me a bright smile. "She's a friend, Im sure you'll love her."

Sherlock shot him an exasperated look over his book. "Molly is not my friend, she's an acquaintance. Now back to what's important. Your row with a machine," Sherlock looked at John expectantly.

"It sat there while I shouted abuse. You have any cash?" John said ignoring the smirk Sherlock and I shared.

I ignored the butterflies and instead pushed the feeling deep down, burying it. I wasn't going to allow myself to become attracted to him.

Sherlock tried to hide the amusement in his voice. "Take my card," he nodded towards the kitchen.

I noticed the table was covered in what appeared to be a small laboratory. I sighed, this place needs a thorough cleaning. Maybe I could get John to take Sherlock with him so I could get started? I sat back on the couch. Even the thought was exhausting; a plan for another time.

John stopped his advance into the kitchen. Looking back at Sherlock. "You could always go yourself, you've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left," John stared at him indignantly.

"Now that's just not true John, he played his violin," I jokingly said.

"Don't defend him, Liz, you've no idea what he's like," John snapped.

I raised my hands in surrender. "Not another word; I'm a mute," I said, repeating the last two words silently.

John gave me an exaggerated eye roll and continued his quest into the kitchen. John grabbed Sherlock's wallet and found the card he was looking for. "What happened to the case you were offered, the Jaria diamond?" John questioned.

At the mention of a diamond, my attention was back on the conversation in front of me. What girl doesn't like diamonds?

"Not interested," Sherlock said, placing a bookmark in his book, closing it with a snap. "I sent them a message," he firmly said.

In the kitchen, John was leaning over the table running his fingers across what appeared to be a large gouge.

"Ugh, Holmes," he whispered in exasperation. Sherlock innocently shook his head as John made his way to the front door.

"Would you like to join me, Liz?" John said before noticing my heavy eyelids.

"I would Watson but jet lag is really hitting me hard," I lowered myself onto the couch kicking off my heels as I went.

John sent me a nod before he was out the door. I could hear his heavy footsteps head down the stairs. I looked over at Sherlock who was leaning down, he grabbed a sword that had been hidden under his chair. With a smirk, he placed it in the umbrella holder by the door. I mentally shrugged and closed my eyes for a well-deserved nap.

___________________________________________________________  
Third-person p.o.v

The room was quiet again as Sherlock walked over to the amber hard women fast asleep on the couch. He'd been instantly taken by her, not in a romantic way, but in the same way, he becomes taken with a new case. He'd never met anyone like Elisabeth Riley. She was strong yet vulnerable. He stood before her, listening to her steady breathing. He knew she had several secrets, and he was determined to discover every single one. He grabbed the quilt hanging on the side of the couch, placing it over her - his last thought before returning to his chair was: I've always liked the name, Elisabeth.


End file.
